The Null Scribe sized him up, gauging the steel in his gaze and the calm etched into his posture.
They locked eyes for what felt like five eternal minutes.
Neither blinked.
Neither spoke.
The Null Scribe knew Hastora wouldn't be the first to shatter the silence.
He was waiting.
Finally, the Null Scribe broke the stillness.
"I acknowledge your composure and nerve, for the second time."
His voice, now devoid of intimidation, sounded oddly mundane.
Hastora raised a brow, unimpressed.
"You finally spoke, huh?" he said flatly. "So, what now?"
He stepped forward, eyes unwavering.
"Do I get my payment?"
The Null Scribe extended his hand.
A pitch-black grimoire materialized—its presence alone cracked the Nihility Collapse like shattered glass.
Hastora froze.
The grimoire pulsed with overwhelming power, its aura rending reality.
"You may claim your payment," said the Null Scribe, flipping open the book. "But first, you must pass a test."
The cracks widened. The air buzzed with volatile energies.
Hastora narrowed his eyes. "What kind of test?"
"Just a survival test. It won't be difficult."
A lie. A transparent one.
Of course it wouldn't be that simple.
The Null Scribe had already tested Hastora's soul with unbearable pressure—pressure that would've annihilated anyone weaker.
And yet, he survived.
Why?
Was it because he was a Nonconformity?
If so, then perhaps this curse... wasn't entirely a curse.
Still, a survival test from the Null Scribe could only mean one thing—true danger.
Even existing in this place was a battle for sanity.
How would he survive something worse?
Hastora exhaled sharply.
"Fine. I'll take the test," he said.
"All right, I—"
"But keep your promise."
He cut the Null Scribe off before he could respond.
He knew this entity would never lie—probably.
But one could never be too sure.
Plot shifts could twist even the most constant truths.
Still, the Null Scribe hadn't broken any promise yet.
If he wished to, Hastora's soul would already be dust.
That was enough reassurance.
He was safe—for now.
The grimoire glowed with pitch-black brilliance.
"I never break promises," the Null Scribe intoned. "Now go. Prove you are worthy."
Light swallowed Hastora's form.
His body dissolved into it, atom by atom.
Just before vanishing, Hastora glared one last time.
"This won't take long. I'll prove myself."
The Nihility Collapse faded.
---
He awoke.
Eyes fluttered open.
"Where am I?"
The land felt alien—dim, silent, and wrong.
Wind shrieked through the skies, thunder snarled above.
"I didn't write this place..."
Then he remembered.
The test.
Of course.
He stood up and surveyed the land.
"I just have to survive, right?"
He walked.
Past rivers, forests, even the sea.
No monsters.
Not a trace.
"Where are they?" he muttered. "Was someone here before me?"
He stroked his chin, frowning.
No answers came.
The silence clouded his thoughts, heavy and unnatural.
It gnawed at his psyche like unseen teeth.
Even in the Nihility Collapse, the air hadn't felt this wrong.
Something was watching.
Something ancient.
He trudged up a grassy hill and sat, gazing out at the sea.
It looked ordinary—gray, storm-tossed, endless.
But the feeling persisted.
The sea was... wrong.
The silence here wasn't emptiness.
It was presence.
It pressed against his skin, seeped into his bones.
Chilling. Waiting.
He stood again.
In the distance, a tower pierced the sky.
It radiated energy, darker than anything else in this realm.
He marched toward it.
Along the way, he found a lone horse tied to a post—oddly pristine.
Without hesitation, he mounted it and galloped through the ghostly terrain.
When he arrived, he dismounted and pushed open the heavy doors.
Darkness.
Not just the absence of light, but a living shadow.
An ordinary man would be blind here.
But Hastora's eyes pierced the blackness.
Then—thud.
Something dropped beside him.
Reflexively, he summoned a dark orb and stepped back, ready to strike.
Footsteps echoed above.
Dozens.
Maybe more.
Figures emerged from the stairwell.
He conjured a sword of shadows.
Prepared for war.
Then—
"@#$!"
A distorted screech cut the silence.
He tensed.
'What kind of creature makes that sound?'
The beings descended.
Now, he saw them clearly.
Vuldari!
Beings like orcs—but tall, graceful, almost regal.
Silver fangs. Glowing yellow eyes. Bluish-black skin.
Elegant monsters.
His expression didn't change, but his mind screamed.
'Shit. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Why are they here?'
With trembling legs, he bolted toward the exit.
But the door slammed shut without warning.
He threw himself against it—but it wouldn't budge.
It was locked from the outside.
A fierce gust from beyond the tower had jammed the latch tight.
Luckily, the Vuldari couldn't see him, thanks to the suffocating darkness cloaking the tower.
He scanned his surroundings, then darted toward a nearby barrel he spotted.
"What do I do? Should I fight them?"
The Vuldari weren't mindless beasts.
They could think. Strategize.
Charging in recklessly would be suicide.
He needed a plan.
Summoning a sphere of darkness, Hastora shot down the lamp overhead.
The Vuldari immediately drew their weapons, sprinting toward the sound.
This was it—his chance.
Dark energy surged as Hastora cloaked his blade in a thick black aura.
He walked silently behind them, each step calculated.
Then, in a burst of motion—
"Dark Swordmanship Level Two:
As his sword struck one Vuldari's neck, a vortex of shadows erupted from the impact.
The storm consumed the others, spinning them into the abyss.
He couldn't afford to stay on this floor.
The exit was sealed.
There was only one direction left—
Up.
He sprinted up the stairs without a second thought, climbing step after step.
"Where can I hide?"
Hastora glanced left and right, frantically searching for a safe place to take cover.
Then—he spotted a room.
He rushed toward it. The door was unlocked.
As he opened it, his eyes went wide.
"What… is this…?"
The room was packed with Vuldari.
Now he was sure.
This wasn't just any tower.
This… was their nest.
To be continued in the next chapter…
---
A/N:
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Over and out, Zalario